The Handshake
by notthyfriend
Summary: On the Hogwarts Express on the first day of school, Draco offered Harry his friendship. What if Harry had accepted?
1. Chapter One

**The Handshake**

"He turned back to Harry. 'You'll soon find out that some wizard families are better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.' He held out his hand to shake Harry's..."

Time seemed to stop as Harry lowered his eyes to Malfoy's nearly white hand. A battle raged behind his eyes. The Weaslys had been kind to him, but he couldn't fight the nagging in his brain, remembering how Ron and the twins had only shown him minimal interest until they knew his name. At least Draco had spoken to him in Madam Malkin's, before anyone knew that he was the Harry Potter. Draco had never stared at Harry's forehead like it'd sprouted an arm or something. But more than any of that, Harry wanted to fit in in the wizarding world. To be popular and accepted, to live the life Dudley had been depriving him of for ten years.

Before he even realized that he'd made his decision, Harry's hand met Draco's and they shook. "It's settled then." Malfoy proclaimed, ignoring Ron, whose jaw had hit the floor and looked utterly betrayed. "Crabbe, Goyle, get Potter's things and bring them to our compartment. And be careful not to get any Weasly filth on you while you're at it."

Harry glanced at Ron over his shoulder on his way out of the compartment with Malfoy and gave him what he hoped was an apologetic look. Ron never saw it, however, as he was busy trying to keep Scabbers out from under Goyle's boat-sized feet. "Total idiots, those two," Malfoy remarked in the hallway. "But they're loyal and mad strong. They come in handy often enough."

The two reached another compartment about midway down the train and entered. A pug-faced girl, giggling madly, was already sitting inside. "Potter, meet Pansy." Malfoy drawled, unenthusiastic. Pansy was not the ugliest girl Harry'd ever seen, but she was incredibly close. And the giggling, which hadn't ceased since they entered, certainly was not helping. Malfoy gestured to a seat at the window, and as soon as Harry took it, Pansy flooded him with questions so quickly he couldn't even answer one before she had asked another, leaving him spitting out a lot of 'um's and 'er's. When she finally paused to great Crabbe and Goyle, returning with Harry's trunk and owl, Malfoy leaned over and whispered in his ear. "I know what you're thinking. 'This is the last person I'd ever want to be stuck on a train compartment with, even if I wasn't surrounded by weirdos and strangers.'" Harry was surprised at his intuition. "But just block her out, you'll get used to it. She has her uses, just like the others," he finished, drawing away with a wink.

Pansy soon resumed her incessant questions, but she seemed to have noticed that she hadn't gotten any answers yet, and slowed enough to let Harry respond. He could feel a headache creeping into his brain. Before long he wanted nothing more than to slap Pansy across the face, anything for a moment's quiet. Suddenly, Malfoy intervened. "Crabbe, Goyle, go to the snack trolley. Don't come back without the food this time. And Pansy, get a full head count of everyone we know that's on the train, including prefects and Head Boy and Girl."

The three of them left swiftly, brushing roughly past a bushy-headed girl on their way out. Harry recognized her as the girl who'd been asking about the missing toad. "So you've moved then," she remarked.

"You caught that, did you?" he snapped grumpily. "And we don't have your stupid toad, either," he added before she could ask, gripping his pain-filled head.

"It isn't my toad that's missing, I-"

"Who are you?" Malfoy interrupted.

"Sorry?" asked the girl. (Harry vaguely remembered her introducing herself, but had forgotten her name.)

"Who...are...you?" Malfoy repeated, slowly, as though he were addressing a small child.

"I'm Hermione Granger. And you are...?"

"I've never heard of you," he said coldly, ignoring her question. "Who're your parents?"

Confused, Hermione replied, "They're dentists, why?"

"Muggle-born," Malfoy spat. "Go and sit somewhere else with the rest of the rabble. Or sit with Weasly, he's nearly as low as the mudbloods like you, he'd probably let you stick around, I'd wager." Hurt and angry, Hermione ran from the compartment. "Can't seem to get a moment's peace, eh?" Malfoy commented, rising and crossing the compartment to sit across from Harry. He acted as though nothing strange had happened.

"My head aches," Harry replied dully.

"No wonder," Malfoy chuckled. "Between Pansy, the mudblood, and the doorknob-brained sidekicks, it's amazing your head is still attached," he added, stretching his legs. "Anyway, it'll pass soon enough. They won't come back for hours. Pansy probably won't return at all. No, she'll run into one brainless ninny or another and forget we exist until the sorting. And Crabbe and Goyle are hopeless; they'll look for hours until a teacher clues them in that the trolley's already gone by."

"What's the sorting?" Harry asked.

"That's right, you wouldn't know that, growing up with muggles, would you? The sorting is how all of the first years get put into each of their houses. Most students aren't told what the process is beforehand, my father thinks it's unnecessary to go about with all this secrecy. Says it's best to have me prepared. Anyway, it's hardly anything to fuss about. They make you wear an ugly hat and it tells you where you belong. Why do they think we shouldn't know about that?" Malfoy finished, probably more to himself.

Harry was feeling better now, though, and ventured a response. "Maybe they just want you to envision the worst thing you can, so that if you have a breakdown before you even get sorted then they'll know to chuck you out," he mused. To his surprise, Malfoy burst out laughing.

"You know what, you're all right, Potter," he said between fits of laughter. The change in the pale boy was so great that Harry was forced to laugh along with him. Harry had already known that the wizarding world was very different from the muggle world. But now that he was with Draco, happy, he realized for the first time that magic wasn't going to be the only new experience that Hogwarts had in store for him.


	2. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. **

**To my reviewers:**

Silver115: I hadn't planned on making this slash, at least not until later, but darkness is indeed

in store. Laura: Thanks for the great review, you might like my Hermione/Ginny tradgedy, too.

"A voice echoed through the train: 'We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

Draco and Harry pulled their school robes out of their trunks and tugged them over their heads as the train began to slow. When the engines stopped, the boys left the compartment and stepped off the scarlet steam engine and into the cold. They followed Hagrid's booming voice over to a dock surrounded by small four-man boats. Well, four students or one Crabbe and one Goyle. Draco and Harry got a boat to themselves after Draco hissed at a girl that tried to follow them into it.

Harry noticed that Hermione and Ron were in a boat together and that Hermione looked like she'd been crying. Ron was trying awkwardly to comfort her; patting her on the back a bit too hard, it seemed. Once everyone had a boat, (Hagrid had one to himself), they took off across the lake. Even Draco seemed amused at the slithery things they couldn't quite see below the water.

They reached the school and were ushered into a small room, presumably to wait for the sorting. After a scare by the ghosts coming through a wall, everyone but Draco and the others that'd been in their compartment seemed nervous. Ron now had an arm around Hermione's shoulders. A woman named Professor McGonagall led them into an enormous, resplendent dining hall where the rest of the teachers and students were already seated.

After the hat had sung and the sorting had started, Harry had a chance to assess the types of students in each house. Hermione and the toadless boy had gone into Gryffyndor, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle had gone into Slytherin. Soon, Pansy Parkinson was also sorted into Slytherin, and it was almost Harry's turn. He tried to ignore the whispers that flooded the hall when he approached the stool. Before he reached for the hat, he saw Draco give him a crooked but reassuring smile. It was almost a smirk.

Harry swallowed hard, sat, and put on the hat.

"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh, my goodness, yes- and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting..."

"You have something else here, too. It's new to your mind, some odd sort of ambition that I haven't seen for half a century at least. Hmmm... I suppose I shall put you where I put the rest of those who've possessed it; it will help you on the way to greatness, you know. SLYTHERIN!" the hat cried. Small applause sounded from the Slytherin table as Harry replaced the hat and shuffled over to take a seat next to Draco.

"Well done, Potter," he said. "You looked nervous."

"Only a little," Harry lied.

"Right. Look at the boy on the end there. I think he's going to be a Slytherin." Harry looked where Malfoy had indicated. The boy standing near Ron resembled Malfoy, but at the same time looked nothing like him. It was an odd sort of thing to behold. It was something in his manner, an expression and posture that made them look almost like brothers, even though their features were like opposites. Malfoy had pale skin and slicked-back platinum blonde hair, while this boy had dark brown, tousled hair and an olive complexion. When his name (Zabini, Blaise) was called, he walked to the stool and sat with an air of total indifference, and he was, sure enough, made the last Slytherin.

"Get him to sit on your other side," Draco hissed in Harry's ear. That was the only remaining seat anyway, so Zabini, Blaise sat there without encouragement.

"'Sup?" he asked Harry.


	3. Chapter Three

LunaeDea88: I'm sorry I spelled Weasley wrong, I'll watch for that. I know "sup" was a horrid bit of introduction, but I wanted to make Blaise seem aloof, and couldn't think of anything except "hey", which still sounded friendlyish. I even toyed with the idea of making him American, which would've supported using it, but I decided against it. And I know that Pansy's idiocy is overdone in many fanfics, but don't worry, it serves a purpose and won't be around the entire story. And besides, that _is_ how the Gryffindors in the book view her at this point. Thanks for your tips, I really appreciate them!

momma-dar: Thanks! I hope to keep it going, I like writing it.

Virginia Riddle-Malfoy: You and your muses can rest assured that all characters will affect Harry (and Harry them) as is most appropriate to how his personality and life is changing.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Draco asked indignantly.

"Nothing," Zabini replied with a shrug. Draco seemed angry that anyone would dare use terminology he didn't immediately understand, but seemed pleased that it'd been dropped without an egotist's explanation of what he'd meant. Harry tried to restart the conversation.

"Who knows when we eat? I'm ravenous." As if summoned by Harry's inquiry, food suddenly appeared before them on the extravagant trays lining the tables. As the students began loading their plates, Zabini volunteered a piece of the conversation for the first time.

"I didn't see you on the train."

"Go figure. I wasn't aware you'd been looking," Malfoy quipped. Zabini raised an eyebrow. Harry smiled to himself. It looked to him as though the two were trying to prove that they were each as witty and aloof as the other.

As the battle of wits continued around him, he began to eat and looked around the room. Here and there around the room he could still see a few people leaning close and whispering, looking in his direction, but most of them had begun eating and chatting amicably. He turned his gaze to the staff table. Among the faces, he recognized Hagrid, McGonagall, Dumbledore and Quirrel. But next to Quirrel was a hook-nosed, greasy-haired professor that Harry did not recognize. For an instant, Harry thought he saw the professor glance at him, but it was over less than a second later and he wasn't sure. It did make him feel strange, though.

"Hello?" Harry snapped back to reality. Draco was waving a hand in front of Harry's face. He and Blaise seemed to have finished sizing one another up and had both been found worthy. "I asked you a question," Draco said.

"Sorry," Harry replied. "I was looking at the staff table. What was your question?"

"I asked where you lived before Hogwarts."

"Surry."

"You lived with muggles, didn't you?" Blaise said. It wasn't a question.

"Everyone knows that," Draco said condescendingly. "It's in all the books."

"I never read any of them," Blaise replied. His tone matched Draco's exactly. He turned back to Harry. "You hated it there. They didn't want you." Once again, it was not a question.

"No, they didn't," Harry said slowly. Blaise was definitely more insightful than Draco, resemblance or no resemblance. He decided to change the subject.

"Who's that?" he asked, indicating the hook-nosed professor at the staff table.

"That's Professor Snape. Father has him over for dinner all the time. Why?"

"No reason, just curious." Harry dived into his plate of pork roast to avoid further inquiry. He didn't feel particularly inclined to try to explain how Snape gave him a "weird feeling".

"He looks angry. Well, not angry, just... like he's got a grudge against the entire planet or something" Blaise mused, toying with a fork. Harry noticed that he and Draco didn't look so alike now. Blaise's expression looked thoughtful, almost dreamy. But when Crabbe and Goyle loped past, the resemblance reiterated itself. They only seemed to look alike when with people they felt were beneath themselves.

"Bloody idiots," he muttered.

"At least they're less annoying than Pansy," Harry reasoned. "They barely talk."

"Who?"

"That's right, you haven't met her. Pansy!" Draco called down the table. Pansy approached them, and Harry did his best to tune out the conversation until she'd left.

"You see?" Draco said when she returned to her seat down the table.

"I dunno," Blaise said, the thoughtful expression back on his face. "It looks like she's playing up to it. That she's not really as dumb as she lets people think."

"I think you're nuts," Draco said, his dismissive air still in place. Harry wasn't so sure. He remembered thinking that Draco was intuitive, but he seemed as thick as Goyle compared to Blaise, and if he thought there was more to Pansy than it seemed, then Harry was willing to believe it.

A prefect announced that the first years were to follow him to the house dormitories. Draco, Blaise, and Harry fell into step behind him. Draco prattled on about how he already knew where the dormitory was on account of his father, and when the finally reached it, Harry realized how tired he was. The first year boys ascended the stairs to their room and Harry fell gratefully onto a lush four-poster with emerald-green hangings. "'Night," he mumbled into the bedspread.

He did, however, manage to stay awake long enough to change into pajamas and crawl under the luxurious sheets. The last thing he remembered hearing was Blaise asking, "Malfoy, do you know anything that you learned on your own and your father didn't tell you?"

"Shut up, Zabini."


	4. Chapter Four

Harry awoke to the sounds of Draco and Blaise bantering as they dressed to go down to dinner. "What do you mean, too much hair potion?" Draco demanded. He sounded very offended.

Harry sighed and forced himself out of what was easily the most comfortable bed he'd ever felt and loped to his trunk.

"Come on, Potter, tell Zabini he's of his rocker!" Draco insisted.

"There's no way I'm getting into this now," he evaded. As Blaise and Draco both tried to convince Nott, the other boy in their dorm, to side with them, Harry went to his trunk and changed into clothes and robes for the day. He looked up to hear Draco laughing at him and Blaise trying to hide a smile. "What?"

"Is that what you call tying a tie?" Draco sniggered.

"I guess I just never learned," Harry replied sheepishly. Blaise helped him to tie it properly, explaining how as he did so, so that Harry could do it himself the next time. When all three of them had dressed and Draco had finished his hair, they ascended into the Great Hall for breakfast. When they sat at the Slytherin table, Blaise promptly fell into conversation with- of all people- Pansy. Draco pulled out his schedule and Harry leaned over to read it.

"Potions first- that's Snape's class- then History of Magic and Herbology until lunch," Draco read.

"Do you know where to find Potions?" Harry asked, fearing he already knew the answer. And sure enough...

"Oh, yes, my father..." Draco started. Harry groaned inwardly, and turned to his other side to find Blaise just finishing his conversation with Pansy.

"What an odd assortment of people we'll be living with these next months," he commented.

"How d'you figure? Harry asked.

"No one in this house is what they seem," he replied, far away. Seeing Harry's look of interest, he said, "I'll explain it once we're in Potions."

Sure enough, the Great Hall was emptying as students filed into their first classes. Draco was waiting impatiently for them to rise and follow him back to the dungeons where, Harry assumed, Potions class was located.

To his dismay, it seemed that they'd be sharing the class with the first-year Gryffindors. Weasley, Granger, and the toadless boy were there already. Granger and Weasley were deep in conversation at a table in the front.

Harry followed Blaise and Draco to the back of the room, sitting at one two-person table next to Blaise, Draco at the table in front of theirs with Pansy. After several minutes, Professor Snape stormed into the room and began speaking before he'd even reached the front.

"There will be no wand- waving or silly incantations in this class..." After his opening lecture, his quizzed the students on potion ingredients and procedures. He was especially hard on the Gryffindors, it seemed. By the time he called on Harry, only Draco and Granger had answered correctly. "Potter..." he hissed.

"Yes, Professor?" Harry tried to hide his nerves. He knew he was failing miserably.

"What are the uses of Mandrake?" he snapped.

"Uhhh..."

"I figured as much. Useless. Zabini!" he moved to stand in front of Blaise. Harry was so angry that he hadn't been given a chance to answer that he didn't hear Blaise's question. He did, however see Snape's look of approval when he answered correctly.

"So it seems we do have a bright mind or two amongst us," Snape mused as he returned to the front of the room. "But that's not enough! I want a foot-long essay on the uses of Mandrake and Wolfsbane, and the ways in which they are similar by next week!" he barked, sitting at his desk.

"Cranky bugger, isn't he?" Blaise asked Harry, smiling. "Doesn't seem to like you at all, does he? Still, I bet it'd would've been worse for you if you'd ended up a Gryffindor."

"I suppose... what did you mean back in the Great Hall?"

"Oh, that. Well, Goyle and Crabbe seem fairly two-dimensional, but I think just about all of the others are quite a collection of enigmas." He paused. "Take Pansy. I mentioned earlier that she's got something up her sleeve. I'd bet anything that she's playing this idiot act to lure people –like Malfoy- into trusting her so that she can manipulate them later. And it's working, from the look of it." His gaze shifted to Malfoy, who was prattling on to Pansy, who in turn, looked deeply interested.

"In my opinion, she's filing away every word that escapes his lips, to be used to her advantage when the time is right."

Harry considered this. "What about the rest? Draco?"

"Ah, well there's an interesting chap." He paused again, seeming to be organizing his thoughts. "Draco is clever. He's his father's puppet, to be sure, but he's got a brain in that head of his. Everything he does, he does to enhance his image and portray himself as the figurehead he wants to be. Think Pansy on a different plane. He calculates his every move. Even you and I didn't get pulled into his circle by chance."

Harry's mind was reeling. "Us?"

"Of course." Being the figurehead of a power trio is just the way he can gain sway here. And if he hadn't met you, he wouldn't have bothered with me. A "power duo" just doesn't work quite as well. My guess is that it would've just been him and the brick-brains. He'd have the brains, and Crabbe and Goyle would bash in the heads of anyone that disagreed with him. Not as effective as what hed've liked to have, but good enough, anyway."

The bell rang then, and the students stood up to go to their next classes. Harry's head was spinning with new ideas to process. The one thing he knew for sure was that Blaise would surely come in handy to have around, because he was definitely more perceptive than Harry.


	5. Chapter Five

**Author's Note: Thanks so much to my reviewers, I appreciate your support and your tips, they've proven invaluable. I'm writing this and "Forbidden and Wrong" at the same time, I've never done any serious writing before, and I couldn't keep up my enthusiasm for them without your feedback. But I still can't seem to write these first chapters fast enough; because I'm so eager to get to the really gripping twists I have in store for our young hero. The story will also need a change in rating soon, so, if these semi-interesting chapters frustrate you, just bear with me. I know I'd love to skip all the intro, but the story won't allow it. Keep reading! **

The next few days went fairly smoothly for Harry. Classes were either easy enough to do alone, or he could get the help he needed from Draco or Blaise, or by spying on Granger in the classes he shared with Gryffindors. But on Friday, the last day of classes for the week, Harry went to his first broom instruction class. The students lined up in rows, one broom each. Madam Hooch had them place their hands over the motionless brooms and say "Up!"

Most students' brooms stayed on the ground, including Granger's, which made Draco smirk fiercely. After everyone'd gotten his or broom to obey the "Up!" command, Madam Hooch asked them to mount and kick off. Logbottom ended up with a broken wrist and was taken to the hospital wing. "Dumb blighter," Draco said once the professor had gone out of earshot. "Only Longbottom could screw that up," he quipped. Blaise was looking at something at the opposite end of the practice field.

"Check this out, Harry," he said quietly, beckoning. Harry followed his line of sight to see Granger and Weasley, heads together, whispering and holding hands.

"No way! Weasley, I didn't know your family could have possibly sunk any lower, but it seems you've proven me wrong." Apparently Draco had seen them to. Weasley's hair turned a violent shade of red. He dropped Granger's hands and started storming off towards Draco, but he'd already lost interest. He picked up something shiny from the ground. "Look! Longbottom's dumb remember-dealy. Catch, Harry!"

Harry took several running steps back and caught it before it hit the ground. He paused to examine it before throwing it back. It was a small glass sphere, with white smoke swirling inside. When he threw it back, Draco mounted his broom and took off into the sky. "Come and get it, Potter!" he shouted back to the ground.

Without pausing to consider, Harry mounted his own broom and followed after Draco. All his thoughts and cares seemed to stay behind. This was the greatest feeling he'd ever experienced. All Harry knew was that he was flying, and that if he'd had a choice, he'd never do anything else again. Draco and Harry tossed the glass sphere back and forth several times before Draco's face donned his familiar mischievous smirk. He brought back his arm and hurled the Remembrall as far and as fast as he could. Harry sped after it, following it into a spectacular dive, finally catching it and pulling up instants before he would have slammed into the hard ground.

"Mister Potter!" shrieked a shrill voice. McGonagall was storming across the grounds, right at him. "Follow me this instant!"

"We'll be sure to buy lots of flowers for your funereal," Draco quipped. Ron was grinning like he'd been presented with an enormous sac of galleons. Harry swallowed hard, dropped the broom he was still carrying, and steeled himself to follow the half-crazed Professor. He wasn't quite sure where McGonagall was taking him, but he didn't suppose it mattered. The entire trip, she was stomping her feet and occasionally spitting questions, but it was obvious to Harry that he was not intended to answer them.

Only after McGonagall approached a stone gargoyle and practically screamed a password at it did Harry realize that the only place they could possibly be going was to the Headmaster's chambers. They ascended a revolving stone staircase and reached a landing where the Professor, still apoplectic with rage, knocked sharply. A quiet reply sounded through the door and McGonagall entered swiftly with Harry in tow.

"Afternoon, Minerva. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Dumbledore asked from behind his desk.

"Potter...broom...not..." McGonagall couldn't seem to remember how to speak English.

"I see. Thank you Minerva, I'll deal with it from here," the headmaster said smoothly. 'What a shmuck,' Harry thought to himself. Dumbledore's attempt to cover for the professor was almost comical. "So," Dumbledore's voice cut into Harry's thoughts. "Underage broom riding? Hardly seems an offense worthy of the Headmaster's office, eh? So let's see... first time on a broom, I would imagine?"

"Yes," said Harry. 'Duh!' said Harry's brain.

"I just so happened to see the event myself, and-"

Harry' brain screamed, 'Shmuck! Shmuck, shmuck shmuck! Who talks like that? You just _happened_ to see it? Holy shit, how did you ever get this job?' For a while Harry's brain continued this way, until he heard Dumbledore say, "So that's that, and now that lessons are over for the day, you may return to your dormitory."

"Huh? I mean, yes, thank you, Headmaster," Harry said, and walked as quickly as he could out of the headmaster's office.

-----------

"So father's right, then! Dumbledore really is a useless old codger," Draco exclaimed gleefully over his plate of roast pork. Harry smiled to himself at the sight of Draco laughing himself into a fit. He couldn't seem to get enough of Harry's recount of the day's earlier events. Even Blaise, who was usually so placid, had had a good laugh. "Oh! I'd almost forgotten, Granger and Weasley! Together! I guess it's not so much of a surprise, a mudblood-lover with a mudblood."

"Mudblood lover?"

"Oh, yes. Weasley's father is totally fascinated with muggles. It gets him into trouble with the Ministry all the time. That's why all the Weasleys are so damn poor. Their good-for-nothing father ruined a pureblood family. Not that they'dve been much better off anyway."

"Mudblood or not, Granger's smart," Blaise pointed out.

"What's with you always taking sides against me?" Draco flared.

"Cynicism. I was born with it, and it's fun pissing you off, besides." Harry snorted into his goblet.

"Shove it, both of you," Draco snarled. Still suppressing laughter, Harry suddenly felt eyes on him. His scar prickled slightly. Slowly, he began looking around the Great Hall. His eyes reached the staff table. There, on the far left, Quirrel was staring at him intensely. He didn't even seem to have noticed Harry staring back. Then, all of a sudden, an expression of what looked like pain crossed Quirrel's face. He began muttering to himself, then rose swiftly and left the Hall. No one but Harry had seen him leave.

"Coming, Harry?" Blaise's voice snapped him back into lucidity.

"Uhh, yeah, I'm coming," He sputtered. The three boys stood and left the Great Hall. Harry soon forgot the odd incident at dinner and slipped into dreams of what to do over the weekend.


	6. Chapter Six

The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher awoke with a start. He didn't need to open his eyes to know what had awoken him. "Yes, master?"

"What news of Harry Potter?"

"Yes, yes, of course. Things have not continued as we had expected, master. Potter has been sorted into Slytherin. He has befriended the only son of Lucius Malfoy. It seems as though he will not go the way of his parents, master."

"Interesting..." the Dark Lord's voice hissed. "I think there may be some hope for us yet."

"Master, have you given any thought to the idea that Potter may be brought to out side?"

"Are you insinuating that I'm a fool, Quirrel? Of course I have!" The professor flinched. "But we cannot make our move yet. Too much yet hangs in the balance. Continue your plans to acquire the Stone."

"Yes, master," Quirrel replied, trembling slightly.

"In the meantime, I grow weak. Return to the forest. I require more unicorn blood."

"Yes, master."

* * *

In his lush four-poster bed, Harry Potter awoke with a start. His scar prickled hot, and he noticed he'd been sweating in his sleep. Sighing, he tried to remember what he'd been dreaming about. He could remember imagining the upcoming weekend, but at some point in the night his pleasant dreams had ceased, replaced with vaguely remembered fears.

Harry shook his head clear and resignedly threw back the covers, knowing he could not return to sleep. He got out of bed, stumbling in the semidarkness of early morning. He made his way to his trunk, and pulled on a rumpled sweater and a pair of oversized jeans. Intending to see if it was too early for breakfast in the Great Hall, he made his way towards the door, but tripped over a corner of his trunk.

"Damn," he swore loudly, nursing his injured toes.

"Watch yourself, Potter," drawled a voice from the other end of the dormitory.

"Sorry Draco. Did I wake you?"

"I'm amazed you didn't wake the castle with all that. But I suppose our friend Zabini is a heavier sleeper than I thought." Harry followed Draco's gaze to fall upon Blaise, dozing, unaffected by all the racket. No one else in the dorm had stirred either.

"Light sleeper, are you?" Harry inquired.

"Of course. Father says I must always be prepared to leap out of bed and be ready to fight all those that threaten respectable society." Harry had never met Lucius Malfoy, but he liked him less and less each passing day. What kind of thing was that to teach your children? But then, Harry had grown rather fond of having a full night's sleep, something he'd been missing his entire life.

"What kind of threats?"

"Mudbloods, for one," Malfoy replied. Harry knew that more talk of Malfoy's father was on the way, and he tried to look interested, but his mind wandered. He noticed that even after he had-presumably- just woken up, Malfoy's hair was nearly perfect. Unmussed and slicked back as usual, only a few stray hairs testified that the boy had slept at all. Harry wondered vaguely if Malfoy's hair was ever unkempt. "...all the time trying to mess things up for us purebloods."

"I'm not technically a pureblood," Harry pointed out. He still didn't understand why anyone's relatives should determine how good a person was, but he was becoming familiar with Draco's –or at least Draco's father's- opinions. "My mother was muggle-born."

"Yes, I know that, but still, you're a Slytherin, aren't you? This is the only house with people that're any good for anything. You may not be pureblood, but your father was, and your mother was –at least- a witch."

"My mother could have been a muggle for all I care, I wouldn't think any less of her!" Harry yelled. His temper flared dangerously. How dare Malfoy suggest that Harry's mother wasn't as good as any other witch or wizard!?

"Hey, now Potter, keep your shirt on, won't you? It's not like I'm making this up. Everyone knows that purer blood is better blood!"

"Yeah, well you can take your pure blooded egocentrism and shove it up-"

"That's enough, both of you!" Blaise was sitting on his bed, watching the scene. Harry realized that he must've woken him when he started shouting. "What's this about?" Nott, also awake, slipped out of the room to avoid being sucked into the fight.

"Harry's going on about his mudblood mother and-"

"Don't you call her that!" Harry shouted. He realized that Blaise had said it the same time he did. Confused, Harry forgot what he'd been planning to call Malfoy next.

"So, Zabini, you're defending the mud- oh sorry -_muggle-borns_ now?" Malfoy inquired, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I would've expected better from a fellow pureblood. Except a Weasley, from them I'm beginning to expect anything."

Blaise had crossed the room, and was now standing with Harry and Draco. "Keep talking, Malfoy," he said through gritted teeth.

"Well, Potter has an excuse; he was raised by that rabble. But from you? I'd never expect it. But, then again, you're mother's insane, so..." Within an instant Blaise had drawn his wand and had it aimed directly at Malfoy's throat.

"What did you say about my mother?"

A flicker of fear crossed Malfoy's face, but he recovered quickly. He knew Blaise had nowhere near the knowledge required to cause him any real harm with his wand, and he decided to keep pressing his advantage. "I said that she's insane, and for all we know she probably is at home right now, having a lovely chat with a feather duster or a tea cozy, and-"

Blaise dropped his wand and hit Malfoy square in the jaw with all his might. Malfoy crumpled instantly, out cold on the floor. Slowly, Harry's eyes took in the strange scene. Malfoy's cheek was swelling and red. It would bruise horribly within minutes. His gaze moved to Blaise. Blaise was staring at Malfoy's crumpled unmoving form, still shaking with rage.


	7. Chapter Seven

"Blaise?" Harry asked tentatively. Slowly, as though waking from a dream, Blaise stopped shaking and lifted his head to face Harry. "Blaise, what was that about?"

"Let's go downstairs," Blaise said, eerily monotonous. "I'll try to explain." Confused, Harry filed after him, leaving Draco crumpled where he'd fallen. They descended the stairs and entered the common room. The fire already crackled merrily in the ornately carved fireplace, but to Harry it seemed out of sync with the tension permeating the air around himself and Blaise. Seeing several plush armchairs already occupied, Blaise suggested they go somewhere else. Harry numbly nodded acquiescence.

They left the common room through the sliding wall, and roamed the halls for several moments before coming to a stop in an empty classroom. Blaise pulled a chair away from the wall and gestured vaguely for Harry to do the same. Harry set his char down facing Blaise's and sat. But Blaise remained standing. He paced back and forth, muttering to himself. After a few moments, Harry asked, "Uhh...Blaise?"

"My mother is not crazy!" he shouted back. Coming to his senses, he shook his head and sat facing Harry. "I'm sorry, it's just... never mind, let me start over. You've noticed that see things most people don't. I notice things about people."

"Yes, but what's that got to do with-"

"I'm getting there, I'm getting there!" he interrupted impatiently. He was always so calm, so poised; this was not like him at all. "My mother... my mother is a seer. She sees flashes of things that are going to happen, or that have happened already. She was born like that. She just knows things; sometimes she would even go into trances, you know, stuff like that.

"Seeing is not hereditary, but members of the family sometimes can get part of the gift, like me. I don't see things, not like her, but I just... understand things. Like when I knew you grew up with muggles, I just... knew." He was struggling to put his thoughts into words. "But my mother, at first, she didn't have very much trouble with her... sight. We were a pretty normal family most of the time. But she had trouble with it after a while. Knowing so much put a strain on her. She'd go into trances more and more frequently, and for longer periods of time. She felt like all the deceit and pain in the world was hers, because she experienced so much of it." Blaise paused, trying to keep himself under control. Harry refrained from saying anything, hoping not to lose this chance to learn about Blaise.

"People stopped coming to visit us," Blaise continued. "My mother started shutting herself up in her room all the time, she wanted to be away from everyone's thoughts, their worries, their pain. She felt like she was cursed. People started to talk. My father and I always had to make up excuses for her, and everyone believed she was crazy."

Harry had no idea what to say. He couldn't imagine trying to care for someone that saw so much suffering, suffering she wasn't truly a part of. He wondered what he would do if he were in that position. _I'd go mad _he thought.

"Gee, Blaise, I'm... well... Draco's a prat," he finished lamely. What do you say after something like that?

"Yeah, well, I can't wait to see him try and explain his jaw to Madame Pomfrey."

"Do you think he'll tell them that you punched him? You could expelled if 'Father finds out'," he warned, imitating Malfoy's favorite threat. Blaise laughed.

"Nah, he'd never let anyone know how easily he can go down in a fight. Especially his father."

* * *

Sure enough, when Harry and Blaise returned to the common room, Malfoy's face showed no signs of bruising. Seeing their return, he huffily busied himself with homework and ignored them. Nott, however, scrambled across the room and immediately bean to question them.

"What did you do? I walked in to the dormitory and Malfoy's just lying there, knocked out! I practically had to drag him to the hospital wing!" Blaise and Harry exchanged looks.

"What did Malfoy tell you?" Blaise asked innocently.

"He wouldn't tell me anything! He told Madame Pomfrey that he tripped, but even she could see through that!" Nott replied, trying not to shout.

"Well, if he says he tripped then I guess he must have tripped," Blaise said matter-of-factly. Before Nott could say anything else, Blaise and Harry laughed and settled in armchairs across the room.

**Okay, I know this chapter is insufferably short, but I got stuck. I'll put up a new one by the end of the weekend, I promise. Also, some time soon, the rating of this fic will have to go up. I'm not sure yet exactly when, but it's within the next few chapters. I'll warn you before I change it so you can still find it. Keep reviewing, and sorry again for the short chapter!**


	8. Chapter Eight

Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, was happy. In his entire life, he could never remember being happy for more than half an instant at a time, when Dudley was absorbed in some activity that left him ignoring Harry. He had a school free of knuckle-cracking bullies, money and possessions of his own, and, most of all, he had his own best friend. Blaise was the first person who was ever a real friend.

Draco was the first person at Hogwarts who'd been nice to him, but after he'd sided with Blaise after the fight, the most he heard from him was a muttered threat and Crabbe or Goyle's knuckles cracking. Almost all of their classes were together, but Blaise had been moved into a higher-level potions class, leaving Harry alone with Malfoy's glares. Snape still frightened him.

Between the newest trio and his newfound hatred for the Potions master, Harry was having trouble even keeping track of which ingredients were which. He caught himself sitting at the second table from the front, behind Granger, in an attempt to understand by watching her. He didn't learn much, except for enough snippets to piece together the story of how Granger and Weasley ended up together. It seemed that after Harry'd told Granger off on the train, she'd run into Weasley's compartment and he'd comforted her. The whole thing was funny and lame at the same time. It seemed they owed him one. No way would he ask Granger for help, though. He didn't need anymore reasons for Draco to harass him.

He also didn't see Blaise as much as he wanted to. His Advanced Potions classes required lots of homework, apparently. When the first Quidditch match of the year arrived, he was grateful for the chance to spend time with someone that neither hated him nor gaped at him nonstop. The match was Slytherin vs. Gryffendor, and it looked as though it would be an easy Slytherin win. Gryffindor had had to scrounge for a new Seeker, since the last one had graduated the year before. Harry's understanding of Quidditch was still shaky, but Blaise had helped him to fill in the blanks enough to understand that a good Seeker was crucial to a team.

Filing into the stands with Blaise and Pansy, Harry was careful to avoid sitting too close to Draco, Crabbe or Goyle. Luckily, the game started soon and any threat Draco was considering were drowned out by cheers. A Gryffindor third year was commentating, watched over closely by McGonagall. After a few minutes, Slytherin was already up forty points, and the Gryffindor Seeker, a fourth year girl, was showing no signs of knowing where the snitch was, or even that she knew how to play the game at all.

"So it looks like the rumors are true, Kaplinger _is_ as dumb as she looks," Pansy commented from Blaise's other side. Harry was still thrown whenever she spoke. The change in her had been phenomenal. Once she knew there was no fooling Blaise, she'd dropped the skanky gossip queen act whenever they were together, and, eventually, when Harry was around as well. She was actually rather intelligent and, though no other students knew it, she got fairly decent marks. Harry had stopped asking her why she bothered with the act when he started to listen to her speak more often. There was nothing that went on in the Slytherin house that she didn't know, and very little she didn't know of outside it as well. As she had put it, "No one keeps secrets from someone too thick to comprehend them." Pansy had in individual student information what the infamous Weasley twins had in dungbombs and secret passageways. Harry sometimes wondered how much she knew about him.

His focus returned to the game when a Slytherin chaser scored another ten points. The game would inevitably go to Slytherin, that much was obvious. Harry began looking around at the crowd aimlessly. His eyes fell upon Professor Snape, and his forehead crinkled in confusion. Snape was staring at something in the sky, and his lips were moving rapidly, as though he were chanting. Harry followed Snape's gaze, and his eyes reached the Slytherin seeker. Harry's jaw dropped.

The boy could barely hold on to his broom. It was bucking about wildly, and looked ready to fall. Harry gasped and pointed. Others in the crowd began to notice the rogue broomstick as well. Suddenly, the broom stopped moving altogether, hovering in place against the sky. The boy's panicked expression eased, but an instant later, the broom shot forward, careening through the sky directly towards—Harry! His brain was screaming at him to run, but he couldn't move! Petrified, Harry watched the broom and its screaming rider fly like a bullet straight at him.

"Harry, look out!"

Something hard smashed into him, knocking him over into the stands. A split second later, the possessed broom smashed into the bench where Harry'd just been standing. Harry looked down to see what had made him fall. It was Blaise. Harry's brain raced to comprehend the situation. Blaise had pushed him out of danger, probably saving his life. Pansy was standing over the fallen Seeker, feeling his neck.

"Professor! He needs help!" someone screamed, but Snape had already picked him up and was racing towards the castle faster than Harry would've thought possible. Blaise stood up, brushing broken splinters of wood from his robes. Harry sat up, shaking his head to clear it.

"Well, that was certainly exciting, wasn't it?" Blaise asked rhetorically, chuckling to himself and picking a large chunk of shattered broomstick from his hair.

* * *

Harry lay in his bed that night, lost in thought. He'd tried to thank Blaise, but he shrugged it off, claiming it wasn't important. "You obviously couldn't get out of the way on your own," he'd reasoned. "Besides, you'd've done it for me."

The Seeker that'd hit the stands barely survived. He'd been moved to a wizard hospital called St. Mungo's, and rumor had it he'd be lucky to leave there before the end of the month. He wasn't likely to be back at Hogwarts before Easter, either. The game had been declared a draw, and Slytherin's team was holding tryouts for a new seeker.

Harry rolled over, unable to get comfortable. He couldn't block the image of Snape chanting at the broom from his mind. Harry was sure that the Professor was the one to blame for the incident. "Why, though?" he asked himself, frustrated. What was there to gain from a Slytherin's incapacitation? He remembered the broomstick suddenly shooting directly at him. An odd question struck him. Was the Seeker really Snape's target, or had he been after Harry the whole time?

**Okay, so that "weekend" lasted longer than I'd intended, but hey, the chapter's here, isn't it? The story rating may not go up for a while, or at all. I think I'll split the story into one per year, so none of the more high-rating stuff should appear in this one. But make no mistake! There's plenty of intrigue and darkness still to come in year one! Please keep reading and reviewing, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.**


	9. Chapter Nine

"Harry…"

"mm? leeme lone…"

"Harry! Wake up!"

"Huh?" Harry shook his head, squinting to shield his eyes from the thin sliver of early-morning light filtering through a break in his bed hangings. "Whazzit, Blaise?"

"You've got to go down to the Quidditch pitch. Quick, or they'll start without you!"

"Start what?"

"You're trying out to be the new Slytherin Seeker!"

"I am? Since when?"

"Since I said so. It's a good idea. I know these things, you know! I'll be down in a few minutes, now get dressed!" Blaise ordered. Harry rubbed his eyes and dragged himself out of bed, trying to hold on to the rapidly-fading wisps of pleasant dreams. As he pulled on his rumpled clothes, a quiver ran up his spine. Quidditch tryouts? Look at what'd happened to the last Slytherin seeker!

"Blaise? Why am I doing this?"

"_Because_, I told you, I know it will turn out well. You know better than to ask me to explain it, I can't!"

"Okay, okay. Sorry." Harry'd discovered recently that the ever-so-composed Blaise was a cranky morning person. "See you down there."

Harry shivered in the crisp morning air as he walked nervously toward the Quidditch pitch, a piece of "Pansy's-orders" toast clutched in one hand. As he stepped onto the field, he was overcome by a wave of intimidation. He was surrounded by tall, broad-shouldered Slytherins, all of them sneering at him.

"Hey!" demanded a voice behind the cluster of boy-giants. Harry recognized the team captain. "Tryouts are starting; if you aren't trying out, get off the field. Even you, Potter."

"I, um," Harry's voice cracked and his stomach turned. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I'm trying out, too" he said quietly. Over the captain's shoulder, he saw two figures filing into the stands. _Blaise and Pansy, _his brain told him. Their presence was comforting.

"You know first years aren't allowed on teams. You're wasting your time, Potter."

"Just let me try out," Harry insisted without knowing why. "Please." The captain shrugged his enormous shoulders.

"It's your morning. Do what you like, if there's time. You'll need to borrow a school broom." Harry went to the shed the boy'd gestured to and selected a broom. Not knowing anything about brooms, he simply picked one that resembled the one he'd ridden on the first day of flight class.

"Here goes nothing," he muttered.

The tryouts seemed simple enough to Harry, watching from the sidelines. Each of the hopefuls chased a series of tosses from the members of the existing team members, which increased in difficulty until the one trying to catch the balls failed. No one but Harry was younger than third year, but few of them seemed to have much skill with the game. Soon, Harry was the only one remaining.

"All right, Potter, we've got some extra time; let's see what you can do," someone called to him. Fighting a wave of nausea, Harry stood and approached the players hovering several feet above the grass. He mounted his broom and kicked off lightly.

Once again, leaving the ground felt to him like leaving the world, and all his inhibitions fell away. The Quidditch team took off after him and immediately began throwing balls for him to catch. He didn't miss a single one for over ten minutes. Finally, they gave up and returned to the ground.

"Please inform Madam Hooch that we've found our new Seeker," the captain ordered.


	10. Chapter Ten

"Mr. Potter? Come with me," Professor Snape's oily voice deflated Harry's joy. He looked to Blaise for encouragement, but received only a nod.

"Go on, Harry, we'll meet you in the common room." Sighing, Harry turned and followed Snape down the dungeon corridor to his office. His triumphant return from Quidditch tryouts was rapidly becoming the opposite of what he'd imagined.

"This way, Potter, stop dawdling," the professor snapped. Harry followed him into a cold, sparsely furnished office. "Sit." Harry complied, wondering what he'd done. "There are two reasons I've brought you here. The first is the most obvious: today's events on the Quidditch pitch. Are you aware that first-year students are not allowed to have their own broomsticks here at Hogwarts?"

"I am, sir."

"Good. So then you understand the difficult position you place us in here. According to the team, you're the best… man… for the job," Snape's sardonic lingering over the words set Harry's blood boiling. "But to allow you to play would force us to let you break the rules. Now, how would that make us look, allowing our… celebrity special privileges?" Harry did not respond. "What am I to do with you?"

"I could use the school brooms, sir," Harry ventured. "I wouldn't be breaking any rules then, would I?"

"Excellent. Now, the second reason you're here is far less happy. Take a look at this." He set a parchment in front of Harry. He recognized it as his last potions test. "You've failed every examination I've given this term, and your essays are atrocious. I wouldn't give any potions of yours to anything I desired remain alive. Normally, a student as far behind as you would be placed in a remedial class, but since you've managed to fail the lowest-level class offered at this institution, I'm forced to come up with an alternative solution. Starting next week, you will be tutored by Miss Granger. You will still be expected to attend my class regularly during your tutoring. Make arrangements with her during tomorrow's class. She is already aware of this arrangement, as she was, in fact, the only student with both the capacity and the willingness to take time out of her schedule for you. Now, you are dismissed. Leave my office."

"But-"

"Now!" Professor Snape barked.

* * *

Entering the Slytherin common room a moment later, Harry was greeted by Blaise and Pansy. Pansy smiled warmly and patted him on the back.

"Knew you had it in you. Who'd've thought that there'd be some good in Jones' incapacitation?"

"Well done, Harry. What did Snape want?" Blaise asked, steering Harry to a plush armchair. Harry sighed deeply.

"I'm failing Potions. _Granger's_ going to tutor me. I didn't know there could be a way to make extra schoolwork worse."

"Of course there is. Granger may be a know-it-all, but at least she's a know-it-all that really does _know it all_. She'll be able to help you out better than anyone else in the class could. Buck up, you'll be back in the game in know time." At that moment, a large grey owl flew down the stairs from the boys' dormitory.

"How'd he get up there?" Pansy asked.

"Probably got in through the seventh-years' dorm, there's a window," Blaise replied as the owl settled on his lap and stuck out his leg. Curious, Blaise removed the affixed letter and absently stroked the owl's head as he began to read it. Suddenly, he stood up so quickly that the owl screeched angrily and retreated back up the stairs.

"It's from my father," Blaise gasped. "My mother's disappeared!"

* * *

**I know these chapters are awfully short, but it's the best I can do with school and all. I'm not entirely satisfied with the end of this chappie either, so don't grill me too bad on it, eh? And I know that this is full of American colloquialisms, but I'm not going for exact accuracy. **

**And to the reviewer that felt the need to review _every_ chapter of the story so far: a) If my writing style isn't exactly the same as yours, that doesn't make it necessarily incorrect, and I'll split up any words I see fit to write in _my_ style; b) the quotationsare as-is because it was taken directly from the book, to remind readers that most of the plot has remained the same so far; c) "Ron" becomes "Weasley" to emphasize the fact that they are _not_ friends, and to hint at the influence Slytherin is having on him; d) I know _plenty_ about contractions, thank you _very_ much. "they'd've" is not grammatically correct in _any_ form, it is only used in speech; and e) the slytherin seeker was the most convenient, not only for me, but for Voldemort as well. For an explanation of why, please allow the plot to fully unfold. Sheesh, I appreciate that you've paid attention and that you want to give feedback, but you may have overdone it.**


	11. Chapter Eleven

Harry awoke the next morning feeling as though he hadn't slept at all. He looked at Blaise's empty bed and sighed. Blaise had left shortly after receiving the letter, to return home. No one knew for how long. Harry slid out of bed and dressed quietly, not wanting to awaken Draco and invite more insults to Blaise's mother, which had been coming in torrents after Malfoy realized he wasn't around.

Harry made his way up to the great Hall for breakfast, but he hardly ate anything. His appetite had left him to wander away somewhere, much like his attention span seemed to have done. Pansy's voice floated in and out of his consciousness. He doubted she was saying anything important anyway, as her thoughts were probably as far as his own.

When breakfast ended, Harry rose noiselessly from his chair and shuffled out of the Hall towards the stairs to the dungeons. He entered the classroom and made his way to his customary table at the back of the room. Snape swooshed in as usual, waving his wand at the blackboard and seating himself at his desk behind his usual mountain of assignments to grade.

After several minutes of unenthusiastic stirring, Harry became aware of a black-robed form standing quietly in front of his table. He lifted his head groggily.

"Granger."

"Potter."

"What do you want?" he asked, with far less venom in his voice than he'd expected to hear. Threats did not come easily to him.

"I'm supposed to tutor you. When would you like to meet?" Harry was taken by surprise at her matter-of-fact tone.

"I dunno, I have Quidditch practice tonight."

"Tomarrow evening, then? Let's say seven o' clock. I'll meet you in the library." She paused for a moment, but when Harry made no objections, she turned away and walked briskly back to her table.

* * *

Quidditch was by far the most complex sport Harry had ever heard of. After twenty minutes or so of reading the two-inch-thick volume on the subject he'd found in the library, he decided to try a different approach. H e resolved to learn all the fundamentals of Seeking and leave the rest to his teammates. "My teammates," he smiled. Harry had never been on a team before. 

Suddenly, Hermione was at his side, and Weasley was depositing a large stack of books on the table before leaving the library at what could almost be considered a sprint.

"Silly Ron," Granger said dreamily. Harry cleared his throat loudly.

"I don't suppose we could focus on me for a moment, could we?" he said rudely. "This is, after all, my lesson, isn't it?" He knew he sounded venomous, and was rather proud of it. But Granger didn't flinch.

"I'm sure you've had plenty of people focused on you lately, Harry Potter," she replied in that same matter-of fact tone she'd used before. "How about you shift that egotistical spotlight off of yourself for awhile and try to _learn_ something for once?"

"I didn't ask to come here," Harry started.

"I'm well enough aware of that, but you're here anyway, now aren't you? You're just the one that _has_ to be here. I'm the one that's allowed to walk away."

"Says who?" Harry retorted, getting up to leave.

"You're right," Granger snapped. "You go ahead and leave. Fail potions, get yourself expelled, and go back to your muggle life. I'm sure no one will take an interest in the fact that the 'savior of the wizarding world' had his wand snapped at the age of eleven." Shit. This one knew exactly how much power she had. Harry sat down again.

"Good. Now, let's start at the basics, that's usually where problems are rooted…


	12. Chapter Twelve

Two weeks later, as much as Harry was loathe to admit it, his scores in potions had, in fact, begun improving. Blaise had returned, but his mother still had not. He seemed slower and quieter; worry lines had become an everyday addition to his formerly smooth and smiling face. Harry did his best to reassure him in between grueling Quidditch practices. The team had not been pleased to hear of Harry's total obliviousness regarding their sport, and seemed determined to cram the knowledge into him before the re-match against Gryffindor, which had been rescheduled for the following week.

At first, lessons with Granger had been as bad as he'd expected, but after a few days he decided that pouting wasn't going to help anything, and he gave Granger a chance to actually do her job. She wasn't so bad, really. She didn't whine or stick her nose where it didn't belong, but that didn't make Harry like the idea of having to be tutored by her –or anyone- any more than he had already.

But aside from suffering further torment from Draco, attempting to cheer up Blaise, trudging through extra lessons and Quidditch practices, Harry was still happier than he'd been since he could remember. He had friends, he was away from Dudley and his horrid life on Privet Drive, and the promise of the Halloween feast lingered in the air. Since October had begun, the preparations for the feast had been underway. The shack where Hagrid lived was surrounded by freakishly big pumpkins, and every day one or two more decorated statues appeared in the corridors of the castle.

As much as Harry viewed these events in wonder, nothing seemed able to stop Draco from complaining about them in his loudest, most snobby voice. Harry was beginning to believe that the next time he heard the phrase "At my manor," Draco would be losing a limb. Blaise, however, didn't seem to hear him at all.

Blaise seemed empty somehow. Upon his return, he had confessed to Harry and Pansy that there was no evidence that his mother had been taken. She seemed to have simply walked out the door one morning and never returned. No one knew when –or if- she would return. Now, sitting in an armchair facing the fire, Blaise looked as if he were about to break down at any moment.  
"Blaise, mate, you can go on like this. Your mum will come back. I'm sure she's fine."

"No she isn't," he said quietly. "She hasn't been since I was a baby."

"You don't think this is your fault, do you?" Blaise continued to stare into the dancing flames as if they held an answer. "This can't be your fault, Blaise. Your mum's just had a hard time of it; any human would, having to live like that. You can't torture yourself over this; it'll solve itself in time."  
Blaise didn't move, but his expression changed, just barely. Taking it as a good sign, Harry decided to push his luck. "Come on now, Pansy's waiting for us. The Halloween feast is tonight, and you can't stay here in the dungeons all through it!" Blaise suddenly sat straight in his chair.  
"Harry, something's wrong. I don't… I'm not really sure what it is, but I don't think we should stay down here tonight. It's just one of those things, you know? Never mind, let's just go to the feast."

"Is it like when you knew about Pansy?" Harry inquired, confused.

"Yeah, sorta. Let's go."

The Halloween feast was as neat as Harry had built it up in his mind. The decorations were splendid, as was the food that appeared suddenly on the golden plates. Harry was just helping himself to a baked potato when Professor Quirrel came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore's chair, slumped against the table, and gasped, "Troll – in the dungeons – thought you ought to know." He then sank to the floor in a dead faint. Harry turned to Blaise and stared, dumbfounded.

"Umm… I guess leaving the dungeons was a good plan after all, wasn't it?" he ventured shakily.

"Prefects! Lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!" Dumbledore shouted over the melee as he swept out of the hall and gestured for several professors to follow him. Harry and Blaise filed behind a prefect and returned to their dormitory.

"Do you know how a troll might have gotten in?" Harry asked.

"It couldn't have, not on its own," Blaise replied.

"Are you saying you think somebody let it in on purpose?"

"I don't know, but it couldn't have gotten into the school on its own; how would it have opened the door, let alone do it without us all hearing?" Harry fell silent, pondering.

"I don't know," he concluded.

* * *

**Sorry again for the long space between updates, but I've been roughing out outlines for the story and also trying to get progress on my others. "Forbidden and Wrong" is now complete, so I'll be more able to focus on Harry now. Thanks so much for putting up with me!**


	13. Chapter Thirteen

About half an hour later, the Slytherin common room was still buzzing with speculations and rumors about the troll incident. Had it all been a prank? If so, who had played it, and on whom? Some insisted that someone had let it in to frighten Professor Quirrel, while others claimed that there was no troll and that it had been Quirrel's prank on the rest of the school. Even Blaise seemed unsure of its origin. Finally, Headmaster Dumbledore himself entered the room, his robes dragging behind him. He was followed by a tall black man and a shorter, well-muscled young woman, both wearing identical black robes. The headmaster gave no hints as to the strangers' purpose. The gravity and sadness on his face made every voice in the room fall silent. Expecting the worst, they turned their faces to him and waited for him to speak.

"There is an emergency situation within the school," he began quietly. It is no longer safe for students to remain on the grounds. Dress warmly and prepare to evacuate the school in ten minutes' time. Don't bother with your possessions, as they will be shipped to your homes following your departure. Aurors have arrived," he indicated the strangers behind him, "and our exit of the school is in no way unsafe. I expect you to behave in an orderly fashion and not to panic. Older students will set an example for the others. Prefects, please ensure that the students are prepared to leave by the time I have returned." With that, he slid back out of the room without a second glance, leaving the Aurors behind, silently taking in the state of the common room.

Harry and Blaise just stared at each other. If they'd been curious before, there was no word to describe this new dimension of wondering. Fear began to prickle at his neck. Finally, a burly sixth-year prefect clapped his giant hands and began issuing orders to the unmoving students, issuing threats where necessary. The other prefects soon followed suit, herding the mob up and down staircases to their dorms to fetch their coats and gloves. No one asked the obvious question, but it hung in the air, heavy with apprehension and doubt.

* * *

"Students! Please form and orderly line to the carriages!"

"No need to rush, please."

"Down the path to the carriages, that's right. No crowding!"

The pulsing mob of students marching to the long line of invisible-horse-drawn carriages was loud and thick with impatient or panicked individuals trying to shove their way to the front of the line, as if reaching the carriages sooner would somehow cause the train to leave sooner. Unfamiliar faces lined the crowd on every side, obviously more ministry agents summoned to the school to handle the "situation". Harry felt himself wondering what kind of catastrophe could have necessitated such an extreme reaction. Hadn't Hagrid said that Hogwarts was the safest place in the wizarding world?

Refusing to add to the cacophony of noise and shoving, Blaise was moving silently in a straight line within the flow of the crowd. Anyone impatient enough to try to push past him was unceremoniously pushed back into his or her place. Harry was doing his best to follow his example, but the throbbing mob mentality was sinking in here and there. He fought the threatening panic as best he could, and soon he and Blaise had reached the long line of carriages where the crowd broke apart to look for friends to either reassure them or to share their panic with.

Blaise continued in a fixed line, his eyes on the carriages furthest from the school that were filling up slowest. When he and Harry had stepped into one and seated themselves at last, he leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes, sighing deeply.

"What's the matter, Blaise?" Harry asked and immediately regretted the stupidity of the question. Mercifully, Blaise didn't call attention to it.

"What do you think it is?" he asked, his eyes still closed.

"Not a clue."

"Hmm." Blaise sighed again. He declined to speak again, and for a moment the carriage was silent.

"Harry!" Hermione appeared at the carriage door with Weasley in tow. "Can we join you, Harry? She asked.

Harry glanced at Blaise, who simply raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, sure," he finally replied. Hermione opened the door and clambered inside. Weasley followed with obvious reluctance.

"Do you know what's happened?" Hermione asked as soon as she was seated.

"Tell us what you know," Blaise prompted neutrally. "We'll see if there are any blanks we can fill in."

"Well we really don't know anything. The professors are refusing details. There's a 'situation' and it's dangerous enough that we have to leave. That's it."

"We don't know much else, I'm afraid," Harry conceded.

"But what we all know says a lot more than it seems," Blaise interjected calmly. Leaning forward in his seat, he continued. "For one, everyone knows that there is no safer place in the whole of the wizard world safer than Hogwarts, right?" This was met with nods. "So whatever it is can't be some mere threat. Whatever's happening, it's huge. Has anything in history ever prompted a Hogwarts evacuation?"

"Hogwarts has always been used as a place to hold people in emergencies, not the other way around," Hermione said.

"Right. So the threat is within Hogwarts." Blaise sighed

"Or at least it found a way in so that it's no longer safe here." Harry had forgotten Weasley was in the carriage at all. Hermione was staring at him. "What, I'm smart, too," he said sulkily. Hermione turned back to Blaise.

"No troll could ever cause this much pandemonium."

"So all we know is that it's huge. Snape didn't give you any details whatsoever?" Hermione asked.

"We didn't see Snape," Blaise replied, on edge for the first time that night.

"Who told you to leave?" Harry asked.

"McGonagall. And the Hufflepuffs heard it from Sprout. I thought the Heads of Houses told their own students," she answered. "Who came to you?"

"Dumbledore. He's in charge; I figured he was telling everyone."

"So then where's Snape?" Weasley asked. "I haven't seen him since dinner."

Suddenly, the line of carriages lurched ahead and they felt themselves moving toward the train. They fell silent for a moment. Harry felteyes on him and turned. Blaise's facecarried aneerie calm.

"He's dead, you know."

* * *

**Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry ! I'm back, I promise!**


	14. Chapter Fourteen

"Dead?" Harry asked.  
"Where else could he be?" Blaise asked. "There's no way he'd disappear like that. And besides, I just know."

"You 'just know'? How?" Weasley asked incredulously.

"Just trust me, I know," Blaise replied dismissively. Granger leaned back in her seat.

"Okay, let's try to put this together. If Snape is dead, what does that mean?" she asked them. When no one replied, she answered herself. "Who is capable of killing a strong wizard like Snape and forcing the safest place in the world to evacuate? No one has ever had that power. And only one person has ever come close." The silence grew dark.

"Voldemort," Harry finished. Weasley flinched visibly, and even Blaise's eyes flickered noticeably.

"You mean to say that… You-Know-Who is back?" Weasley asked, looking pale. "You're off your rocker, that's impossible."

"Well, what else makes sense, Ron? Do you have any other ideas?" Wilting slightly under the bushy-haired girl's reproach, Weasley shifted uncomfortably. Harry glanced at Blaise and noticed that he was looking uncomfortably green.

"Blaise?"

"If he's back, we're lucky to be alive. We're lucky the building is still standing. What are we going to do?" he asked, his eyes not meeting Harry's but rather looking through them.

"Your family never supported him?" Granger asked.

"No," he replied. Weasley scoffed loudly. Granger gave him a look.

"It's true," Blaise insisted. "We're pureblooded, but my father was never a dark wizard, I swear it."

"And I should believe you?"

"There are a lot of assumptions about your family, Weasley," Blaise countered. "Should I just believe everything I hear about them? You should know that stereotypes aren't everything. Have you ever heard anything about my family specifically being Death Eaters?" The challenge waited in the silence. Finally, Weasley relented.

"No." Just then, the carriage jostled to a stop. Harry reached for the door handle, but stopped short at hearing a shouts.

"Students, remain in your seats, you will be escorted to the train one carriage at a time!" called an unfamiliar voice near the carriage. No one spoke during the wait. After several minutes, an Auror appeared at their door and, after briefly checking the carriage for- whatever it was- walked with them to the train. As they clambered aboard, a second Ministry official led them to a compartment midway down the train and ushered them inside.

"We must ask that students remain in their assigned compartments for the duration of the trip," she said once they were inside. Her voice was flat and weary- she had given this speech at least a dozen times already. "If it is absolutely necessary to exit the compartment, make a point of finding an official like myself to report to before doing anything else. You are safe here, so please remain calm, and your families will be waiting for you at the platform when we arrive. They are aware of the situation." As she turned to leave, Harry decided to try his luck.

"I'm sorry," he started. She paused and turned back to face him. "But what exactly _is_ the situation?" The weary-looking woman smiled wanly, and answered him in the same expressionless voice.

"I'm afraid I am not authorized to discuss the situation," she said, and she shut the door in Harry's face before he could venture any protest. Frustrated and growing scared, Harry watched her retreating form through the glass of the compartment door and finally hit the glass with his fist before whirling angrily and flopping himself into a seat. The others sat as well, still not talking. They remained silent for what felt like a long time. The last students were herded into compartments and the train began to move forward, streaking southward through the October night. Harry glanced at his watch and realized that it was after midnight, and they were actually moving through a November morning. They spent what could have been hours or only minutes lost in their own thoughts before Granger suddenly spoke up.

"How can they keep this from us?" she shouted, making Harry start and the other two boys to look at her in surprise. "I mean, Hogwarts is like our home. They've been telling us for months how wonderful and safe it is. How can they just yank us out one day in the middle of a feast and chuck us onto a train and then refuse to tell us why?" Weasley blinked. "It's just not _fair_!" Granger finished before slumping back in her seat. No one said it, but they all knew that she had expressed all their feelings, not just her own.

"Well, we aren't getting any answers in here," Harry said decisively. He stood and went to the compartment door, sliding it open noisily. Stepping into the corridor, he started to turn left towards the front of the train, but he suddenly slammed into something very solid and nearly fell over backward. Harry backed up a few steps and looked up at the tall black man he remembered from the Slytherin common room. Harry felt himself studying the man's face. He looked like he'd be very friendly in a more normal situation, but he was obviously stressed and tired. And worried; the worry clouded his eyes.

"What seems to be the problem, Mr. Potter?" he asked in a deep, rumbling voice. Harry didn't bother asking how he knew his name; he was used to it by then.

"Um, I…" Harry stumbled over his words, shaken from his brief confidence by the pain of colliding with the big man and by the stares he felt from the three other students in his compartment. "That is, we want to know what's going on," he managed finally. "We're scared and no one will tell us what's going on."

"Yeah!" said a boy across the corridor, who had apparently opened his door at the sound of voices.

"Tell us what happened!" called another.

"Why do we have to leave?" demanded a third. Sighing deeply, the tall Auror raised his hand to rub his forehead before he spoke.

"Please, students, we are doing everything we can. We don't know very many details whatsoever, and I don't want to tell you an incomplete or inaccurate story, even if I was authorized to tell you anything. Please, return to your seats. What I can tell you is that you are safe here on the train and with the Ministry officials on board. The rest of the information will come later," he promised. Slowly, the students retreated into their seats, shutting the doors behind them. It wasn't long before Harry's door was the only one still open.

"Sir," he asked.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt," he said, smiling wanly. "It is nice to meet you, Harry Potter. But I must insist that you return to your compartment." It was obvious to Harry that Shacklebolt considered the discussion closed. But he pushed his luck anyway.

"Sir, is this about Voldemort?" he asked.

"Return to your seat," the Auror repeated. His expression did not change. Harry started to comply, but then decided to try one last time.

"Is Professor Snape dead?" Kingsley Shacklebolt did not say a word in reply, and his stern expression remained on his face, but the corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly before he turned his back on Harry and walked away down the corridor toward the back of the train. With that simple twitch, Harry knew that all of his fears had been confirmed.


End file.
